


Undertale Short Stories and Miscellany

by bibliomaniac



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, Random & Short, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just various short stories and/or deleted scenes and/or fun facts related and/or unrelated to my other stories</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. #angst

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story I already posted on Tumblr, but when I decided to start this wee collection I figured I'd repost it here. Written originally on one of dinkywitch's streams, so it's not really related to Story That Might Happen When You Date Sans, but you can see it that way if you want to.

Sans wants to be with you.

He really, really does.

Sometimes he stares at the picture of you together, when it’s late at night and you’re not there with him, and he wishes.

He wishes so many things, really. He wishes he were stronger. He wishes he could protect the people he loved. He wishes that he could go to sleep and know that everything would still be there when he woke. That you would still be there when he woke, next to him, and you would give him a slow smile, and lean over on your elbows, and press your lips up against him—his cheek, first, then the curve of his brow bone, and then…

But. You can’t promise that to him. Nobody can. He could be with you, and he could love you, and it could all reset, and he couldn’t take it.

And yeah, he sees the way you look at him. He sees you smile at him, and how that smile falls when you think he’s not looking, and it breaks his heart because he wants to make you smile always.

But he can’t. And maybe it’s selfish of him. But he just can’t do it. He isn’t strong enough.

And he takes one last look at that picture, and he puts it away, and he goes to sleep.


	2. chubby!reader x sans for anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO PALS ok so this is meant to be disconnected from all other stories, an anon on my tumblr was saying they hadn't been able to find many chubby!reader x undertale characters so i took it upon myself (lol) to add another one! so ye thats what this is lol pls forgive me
> 
> cw for quick fatphobia

You’re out with your best friend Sans for your daily Grillby’s lunch break, joking around and laughing like usual, when some person you’ve never seen before barges in. You don’t really bother noticing him; ever since Grillby’s went topside, there’ve been a lot of new customers, either coming to see the Weird Monster Bar or coming to eat Grillby’s Yelp-approved burgers. 

He takes a seat right next to you, which is sort of strange considering there are tons of unoccupied barstools, but you mentally shrug and move on. It wouldn’t be the first time a newbie had violated basic etiquette, and you highly doubt it will be the last. 

“Hey,” comes a gruff voice from your right.

You give a glancing, bemused look his way, and reply “Hey,” before going back to talking with Sans. Not that you’re not open for making new friends, but come on, buddy, you’re pretty obviously occupied at the moment.

He rudely interrupts again, saying, “Hey, why are you talking with that weird skeleton when you could be talking with me?”

You roll your eyes and turn to him with a patient look. It also isn’t the first time one of the new patrons has turned out to be a bigoted jerk. “Because he’s my best friend and I don’t know you, is why, not that it’s any of your business.”

He nudges over closer and says suggestively, “We could get to know each other.”

You grimace and scooch over towards Sans, who pats your hand comfortingly. “I think I’ll stick with the weird skeleton, thanks.”

The man scowls. “Fine. You’re not even hot anyway.”

You laugh. “Okay, man.”

As he gets up to leave, he shoots back, “Yeah, keep laughing, pig. Someone as fat as you with a literal skeleton? It actually is pretty funny. You’re perfect for each other.”

Your heart turns to ice a moment and your mouth snaps shut. You’ve always been sensitive about your weight, but when people actually comment on it…

You’re so lost in yourself, you almost miss Sans shouting something at the guy, then turning to you and repeating your name. “--? ----------?”

“Huh?”

“you okay there?”

“Um, yeah. Fine. Aces.”

He looks at you suspiciously, but shakes his head and says “wow, what a bonehead. and that’s coming from someone whose head is literally bone.”

“Hah. Yeah.”

You eventually shake off the comment and return to your usual banter with Sans, but for some reason, he seems different than usual—less talkative, more sober.

You work up the courage to ask him about it when you leave Grillby’s to walk back to his security job. “Hey, Sans?”

“yeah?”

“Are you okay? You seem kind of…angry. Did I do something?”

“no, of course not,” he rushes to assure you, then pauses. “i’m just still really pissed off about that guy, is all.”

“The guy at Grillby’s? Sans, he was just some run-of-the-mill jerk. It’s fine.”

“it’s not though,” he bursts out. “first he has the audacity to hit on you with me right there, then he insults you—“

“Sans, I’m over it. Like I said, he was just some jerk. I get it all the time.”

He turns to you and asks in a horrified voice, “people treat you like that?”

“Yeah, sometimes. It just…comes with the territory, you know?” You pat your belly jokingly and grin at him, but his face is stormy. You stop walking and kneel down in front of him. “Sans, it’s really okay. Sometimes people suck. I’m used to it.”

“you shouldn’t have to be though,” he protests. “you’re—“ He stops and colors blue.

“I’m?”

“beautiful,” he mutters reluctantly.

You frown and look away. “Sans, you don’t have to say that.”

You look back at him when his hand goes to your cheek. “but it’s true. you’re the most beautiful person i know. your eyes, your hair, your body, your laugh, everything about you. it’s all perfect. you’re perfect.”

“Sans, what—“

He groans. “do i have to spell it out for you? you’re hot, i’m attracted to you, i want to jump your bones. there.”

The blue on his cheeks has intensified, and he’s the one looking away now. You giggle. “Sans, are you hitting on me?”

“is it working?”

“Yes.” With that, you draw him into a kiss.

When you’re done, he stares at you in awe, and whispers, “that guy has no idea what he’s missing.”

“Nor will he ever. But you know, he was right about one thing.”

“what?”

“We are kind of perfect for each other, aren’t we?”


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 lil stories requested from my tumblr heyo

prompt: write sans being a total dork to reader chan or him being super fucking overprotective of reader chan post chara

The first few times Sans volunteered to accompany you out on errands, you thought it was sweet. And it still is, it’s just…

“Sans, I’m just going to the grocery store. I’ll be fine.”

“who says i’m coming for you? you know me, i need, like, ketchup or something.”

“You mean like these?” You point to his pantry, which contains dozens of ketchup bottles.

“heh, yeah, sort of like those.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Except different.”

“well obviously those are generic brand, and i like to get Heinz for special occasions. like, you know, Martin Luther King Jr. Day. a very special occasion, worthy only of the most classic of ketchups.”

You kneel down at his side, and he looks away. “Sans, you know I’ll be fine, right? That thing with Chara, it was a total fluke. I’m safe, and I’m here, and we’re both fine.”

Still not meeting your gaze, he says quietly, “can you please just let me do this for you?”

“Sans–”

“please.” His hand finds its way into yours, and for a moment he looks very small.

You sigh and squeeze his hand. “Okay. Grocery store it is. But as long as we’re going, you’re getting way more than just Heinz.”

//////////

prompt: What about someone teaching wd gaster to cook or vice versa? Or someone getting sick from being in the rain too long and gaster trying to take care of them?

You feel like utter crap.

You had forgotten your umbrella yesterday, so you had to walk home in the pouring rain with nothing but a thin hoodie to cover you, and now you were paying the price. Your head was fuzzy, you had a bad cough, and your nose was running something awful.

“–right?”

“Huh?” you ask blearily.

“I asked if you were all right,” repeats Dr. G, who looks very concerned.

“Oh, uh…maybe?” You consider. “Not. Maybe not.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, dear. No. That won’t do at all.” He frowns and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be up and about right now!”

“I didn’t want to miss work–”

“Don’t be absurd. Your health is far more important.” He marches you over to the other room and onto the couch and demands, “Stay.”

You laugh. “Doc, seriously, I’m oka–”

“So help me, you will lie down on that couch right now and you will stay and stop protesting and you–you–you will like it!” He stamps his foot for emphasis.

You raise both hands placatingly. “All right, all right, I’ll stay.”

He nods once sharply and turns around. The sounds of him puttering around in the other room are domestic and peaceful, and you doze off for a few minutes.

You awake to a hot cloth on your forehead and the familiar smell of lemon and honey. Dr. G’s hand is tracing your cheek gently. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“No, it’s all right.” You groan as you sit up. “Is that..”

“Hot water with honey and lemon. It should help clear your sinuses a bit and soothe your throat.”

“Thank you.” You smile drowsily at him, and he smiles back fondly.

“Of course. Now focus on getting better, all right?”

“Yes, doctor,” you say teasingly.

“Not that kind of doctor.” He pauses. “Don’t tell that to my patients, though.”

You snort into your tea. “Hah. Funny.” Then your eyes narrow. “You were joking, right?”

He just smiles mysteriously, kisses you on the forehead, and stands up and leaves the room.

//////////////

prompt: sans or dr g being fascinated by hair?

The first time you kiss, Sans buries his fingers into your hair almost wonderingly, and even when you break apart, his hand stays, keeping your head close to his.

He strokes your hair, twirls it around his index, looks at it like he’s never seen anything quite like it before. You laugh at his fixation. “Sans, it’s just hair.”

“i’ve never touched it before, though. it’s so soft.” His fingers are gentle as he cards them through the strands, and you shiver reflexively.

He pulls away, worried. “did i hurt you?”

“No, no. It feels nice.” You smile reassuringly at him. “You can keep going, if you want.”

He takes the invitation to heart. Every time you cuddle, every time you sleep together, a hand always goes straight to your hair and pulls you close, and he’ll give a little sigh and nuzzle into your collarbone and trace nonsense patterns against your skull, and your heart swells with how much you love him.

(And in the morning you’ll wake up with your hair tangled irreversibly around his phalanges and he’ll say “well, looks like this is a pretty hairy situation” and you’ll groan and he’ll laugh a delighted little laugh and you’ll threaten to shave all of your hair off, but for now, everything is perfect.)


	4. Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here have some mediocre Angst
> 
> completely unrelated to main storyline in stmhwyds btw

It’s a sunny day when he says he doesn’t love you anymore, and the part of you that still feels anything is honestly kind of pissed off about it. Like, how dare the weather be so wonderful when everything is terrible? Another small, logical, cold part of you says, but for other people this weather is perfect. There are people getting together and getting married and being born and having all manner of fun, memorable, happy times. They don’t deserve the rain just because Sans is a douche. You snap back that happiness is an illusion and these people might as well learn it sooner rather than later. The part informs you that you are being melodramatic. You flip it an expressive and wholehearted mental bird.

Maybe it would all be okay if you were this distracted all the time, but the fact is everything keeps bringing you back to it. _“so, i think we should break up.”_ He says it conversationally, not unlike how one might ask for the remote or a refill of popcorn. For a second it doesn’t even register, and when it does, you snort. “Yeah, sure, okay.”

“no, i’m being serious.”

Your heart drops a little bit, and you turn to him. “Why?”

“i’m just not really feeling it. you know?”

“You’re…just not…feeling it,” you say flatly, disbelievingly.

“like…you’re great and all, but i don’t really love you, you know?”

And that’s really, honestly it, because. How many times has he said it, and how many times have you asked him to prove he’s not lying? How many times has he taken your face in his hands and vowed to spend his whole life proving it? How many times has he kissed you so hard that you start to believe him?

So you slap him and storm out, tears blurring your vision. You don’t even know how to feel. You’re angry, and sad, but mostly there’s just this growing numbness while your heart shrinks in your chest. Like maybe it’s just a cold night, and you’ll wake up and he’ll have stolen the blankets again and you’ll call him a jerk because he doesn’t even feel the cold, and he’ll just nuzzle into you and whisper to go back to sleep, he’s sorry—

And there’s another thing. He never said he was sorry. 

You hate him for it.

Except no, you don’t. You could never really hate him. You can only hate yourself for believing him. And you do. You hate yourself with the kind of burning passion you can barely feel anymore, and you cling to it, because at least it’s something. It eats you away inside, but it’s something.

You really need a something right now.

///

It’s a sunny day when he tells you he doesn’t love you anymore. He is lying, of course. How could he do anything but love you? How could anyone? But it’s beside the point, now, because he doesn’t have you anymore. Someone else will get to hold you, love you, watch your eyes crinkle up as you laugh.

He just couldn’t bring himself to keep you for himself any longer. You are something beautiful and precious, and he does not deserve you. You’ll hate him for a while, and then you’ll move on and forget all about him, and everything will be all right—for you, anyway, which is what’s important.

He wonders sometimes if he made the wrong decision. The rest of the time he knows he did. It’s safer for you, better for you, but—what about him? You’ve created this monster inside him that says, _but me, me, don’t i matter, they told me i mattered,_ and it won’t shut up. He bangs his head against the wall, but it still doesn’t stop.

He supposes it’s more or less what he deserves for making you hurt.

He keeps banging his head, harder and harder until he’s dizzy with it, until he can’t think. And it hurts, yeah, but it’s something.

He’s always needed a something. It just used to be you.


End file.
